


Why Do You Push, Why Do You Push

by BloodWhitePanther



Category: DCU, Smallville
Genre: Bruises, F/M, Frottage, Kinky, Rough Sex, bruise kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-03
Updated: 2013-07-03
Packaged: 2017-12-17 14:09:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/868460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BloodWhitePanther/pseuds/BloodWhitePanther
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lana is made to be hurt. Too bad Clark doesn't know it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Why Do You Push, Why Do You Push

They’re making out on the battered red couch in the loft of the barn when Clark first gets rough with her. He’s all over her, on top of her and stroking their tongues together, hands everywhere but pressing just a little too hard into her skin. She knows he’s strong but apparently so strong that a bare brush of fingers burns trailing bruises into her flesh, streaked down her midsection and over her hip. Everywhere his fingers press into her skin bruises down almost to the muscle tissue and he doesn’t even seem to know he’s doing it.

“Ohhh,” she moans out, high and loud, whimpering and shivering at the rough touching. They’ve never gone this far before and it’s like he’s completely forgotten how to be gentle, how to control himself. She needs to stop him, just needs to catch her breath and find a way to say he’s hurting her.

“Lana, Lana,” he groans into her mouth and she’s still rubbing herself on his thigh, rolling her clit back and forth across the hard seam of her own jeans and his hand runs too firm over her thigh, gripping her flesh. _Leaving marks_ and holy fucking hell she’s coming before she even knows what’s happening.

“Clark, Clark,” she says, gasping, eyes rolling back into her head as her whole body tenses and then goes limp, spine melting in bone-deep pleasure like whoa.

“Did, did you just?” Clark asks, going still on top of her, voice high and nervous and maybe just a little desperate, fingers still firm on her hip. She keeps her eyes shut, feeling unaccountably shamed.

“Yeah,” she whispers in a soft voice, wondering, is it okay to just come in your pants like that, fully clothed and never having discussed intent to orgasm? It has to be, is kind of the point of having a boyfriend, but she feels very shy all of a sudden, like she’s exposed herself until…

“Oh, god, you c-came?” Clark stutters out almost disbelievingly, pressing himself into her, pelvis to pelvis, groaning and trembling and it’s almost like he was just waiting for permission or something because then he’s coming too. She opens her eyes to see his fall shut, mouth dropping open in a silent moan, lips spit-shiny and gorgeous and she has to kiss them. She’s flooded with secondary arousal, watching him peak, and she tongues into his mouth like a wild thing, utterly uninhibited.

They kiss from hard and fast to slow and soft, sinking into a leisurely pace as their heartbeats slow down together until they eventually part to breathe. Clark goes heavy on top of her, warm and slack and still and possibly the most relaxed he’s ever been in her presence, nuzzling softly into her neck. The silence stretches until it becomes awkward and she has to speak.

“You’re a little heavy.”

“Sorry! Shit, I’m sorry!” he says, heaving himself to his knees and then to his feet in a panic. She can’t help giggling because even during an orgasm, Clark won’t swear but now, during the post-orgasmic cuddle of all things he’s freaked out enough to finally do it. Lana’s lips tug into a little smile and her gaze travels over Clark from his wide, slightly glassy eyes down over to his heaving chest, to the fly of his jeans which is darkened slightly and probably sticky. He blushes red under her scrutiny.

“It’s fine,” she says and what she really means is _Clark, come back down here and hold me_ but she’s too shy to actually say it, uncertainty holding back the words. She aches everywhere but for whatever reason it just sets her cunt to throbbing again, twitching through aftershocks every time she shifts at all or presses on a bruise. At least the marks, which are sure to be there, are hidden from Clark who’d definitely freak out, she thinks, straightening her blouse to cover her belly as she finally sits up.

“So that was –” Clark starts as he sits beside her, rubbing his palms on his knees. Lana speaks at the same time, accidently interrupting with a soft question.

“Are we okay?” she probes, wringing her hands a little. Clark blinks.

“Yeah, if you are,” he says slowly. Then he asks, a little awkwardly, “Want to come inside for some lemonade? My mom said to ask you earlier…” He sounds so tentative and boyishly uncomfortable that Lana is instantly put at ease. She acquieses and they go inside, Clark ducking upstairs with the excuse of needing the washroom but really to change his pants before his mother can notice anything off.

That night, naked in her sheets, Lana presses her own delicate fingers into the wide, blackish-purple marks Clark left behind on her hip and belly, moaning and shivering and unaccountably aroused. Hours later a few dull hickeys had surfaced on her neck and she twists her head now to feel them, pulling the skin taut over the tendon to feel the sharp ache stinging through the blotches. Her pleasure mounts with every dull throb of soreness and she digs her own fingertips into the marks on her left hip while her right hand drags dull nails along the purple trails streaking over her belly.

“Uhh,” she grunts, one hand slipping down to pinch her clit, long fingers rubbing over her slick entrance. God, it’s sick how much she likes wearing his marks on her flesh, and she’s _so_ wet for him already, so ready to come again just hours later, with the events of the afternoon still living on the surface of her skin. Dark marks over silky caramel.

The bruises on her thigh are the deepest – black and red – they’ll surely last the weekend, until her next date with Clark on Sunday evening. She pictures Clark lining up the fingers of his big hand with the marks, like stencil art, and roughly squeezing her thigh when she comes. It’s bittersweet, because she knows she can’t actually ask him to do something like that. To hurt her, even if she clearly wants it.

Clark would never hurt her, not on purpose, and that may just be part of the allure if she’s being honest. He let go with her this afternoon, held her tight and fell apart until he wrecked her just a little. She falls asleep hoping that he’ll do it again.

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: All recognizable characters, settings and concepts belong to the legal copywrite holders. This is a fanwork and I have not profited financially from its creation or distribution.


End file.
